


the chronicles of my two favourite idiots - book one

by AceJaceinSpace



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: First Kiss, I hate tags, M/M, Mostly Fluff, bgc days, shipping indulgence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 16:11:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12461286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceJaceinSpace/pseuds/AceJaceinSpace
Summary: Dexter Grif wakes up in the middle of the night to the sound of a mirror breaking - what follows, he could never have guessed.Basically, fluffy crushing on both sides - I wanted to write out the first night they shared a bed - and don't say that's not canon because it totally is.





	the chronicles of my two favourite idiots - book one

**Author's Note:**

> I definitely don't own RvB. I wish I did, but no.
> 
> Also, this might be part of a series, but I'm super busy rn so book one might well be book done.
> 
> There are some dark themes at the beginning, just warning ya. Plus, this is bgc era, before all the cool stuff happened. So everyone is still stuck in Blood Gulch.
> 
> If you can't already tell, I kinda based this fic on a line in the bgc about Simmons breaking a mirror. Things developed from there. I'm not sure if the line was after his upgrade though, so this fic might be inaccurate.
> 
> Sorry if it is.
> 
> Please excuse my formatting being kinda shit - like I said, this is my first, and I copied everything from my notes on my phone so it's a bit shabby.
> 
> Anyway, read if you like, enjoy if you can, and all criticism is welcome + appreciated.
> 
> Have a great day!

Dexter Grif opened his eyes to pitch black darkness.

Where was he? He couldn't see anything at all but blackness even when he raised his hands in front of his face. At least, he thought it was his face... Maybe this was another dream? No. Not another one. He thought, shuddering. His heartbeat became disturbingly loud all of a sudden and he could feel it in his ears like a steady drum, warning him of something.

"Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh SHIT-"

Grif stopped himself.

_No. It's alright, I just have to calm down. This isn't a dream. It's real. Isn't it?_

"Simmons..?" There was no reply. "Simmons, are you there?" A muffled noise resounded from his right. "Hello?"

_Dammit where are the fucking lights? Wait, are there any lights? I don't know where I am after all... either back at the base, or... somewhere else..?_

"Oh whatever, the base lights are all red anyway. You can't see anything in that light." Still, anything would be better than this never ending black. The darkness was a lot less foreboding when broken by his voice... but it would be nice to have someone else here with him... As if on cue, another stifled noise reached his ears. He stood up and vaguely made his way towards it, cursing as he tripped over something on the floor.

_Yep, this is definitely the base. I'm the only person I know who could make such a mess of the floor._

His hands eventually found a wall so he felt around for a switch. "Come on, come on, come on!" But if this was the base, then where was Simmons? There was the noise again, but now it was quieter. Simmons was a light sleeper, waking up ridiculously early every day, just like an old man. There was no way he wouldn't have woken up by now. Grif fumbled with the lights, and soon he was greeted by the quiet glow of the soft red lights that were now so familiar to him seeping through the cracks of what he now perceived to be a door. Yup, definitely base lights. A door? Must be the bathroom door.

Overwhelmed with relief, Grif sighed loudly. But then he was once again reminded that his friend was missing.

_Oh shit! He could have been taken by someone, or dead! That fucking nerd... Ok, I'll just turn the light on and Simmons will be in his bed having taken sleeping pills or something. Or fainted. Yeah, that's it. But maybe not fainted. He's fine. Must be sleeping pills._

Only half-convinced, Grif reached out to open the door...

_____________________________________________

Simmons knocked over several things in his struggle to get away from the entrance to the bathroom.

_No, what am I doing? I can't just run away like some sort of startled animal. Ugh, what am I thinking?_

He hurriedly brought his nearest arm up to his face to wipe away the tears, momentarily forgetting the fact his left arm was covered with dark red blood which he had now smeared all over his face.

"Oh, fuckballs." He mumbled, subdued, as he looked down at his offending hand, bloody from when he had gotten too angry and punched the mirror in his rage earlier on. Of course Grif had to wake up after that. Speaking of Grif, now he was opening the fucking door!

_I've really screwed up this time._

He curled in on himself, holding his breath. "S-simmons? Is that you? Are you... okay?" When Grif woke up in the middle of the 'night' to find pure darkness had swallowed him whole he was almost sure that he must be inside his very own living nightmare. But now he was certain, because here he was in a dark room littered with shards of glass and- His best friend lying in a pool of blood. "Simmons! Oh shit oh shit oh shit - it's all gone to shit, he's fucking dead, oh my god we're screwed, what am I going to do, they'll blame me, agh I-" "G-grif? Grif can you- I'm sorry, I- I just... oh for god's sake! I can't- I- I'm-  _fuck_. Just go ahead, laugh it off."

Resigned, the redhead sat up and turned to face him. "Go ahead. Do whatever you want. I don't fucking care anymore." But Grif did not assume his usual teasing. He just stared as Simmons sat on the bathroom floor in his maroon sweatshirt and boxers, shivering.

_Is it cold or something? I can't tell. It isn't cold right now is it? No, of course not. It's a fucking inferno outside. What's going on?_

_What am I supposed to do?_

**How do you deal with finding your friend who to all appearances looks like he's about to commit suicide?** _______________________________________________

"What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?" Simmons had washed his hand clean and bandaged it carefully while Grif watched as though frozen in the doorway.

_Stupid stupid STUPID. God, how could I have been so careless? Nobody was supposed to know! But now, this._

**Nothing ever seems to go right for me, does it?**

Sighing, the cyborg crouched on his haunches with a stifled wince and set about sweeping up the shards of smashed mirror that were scattered across the floor. This had to be the most humiliating day of his life to date. It even topped that one time when he'd managed to trip over his own feet during his school's performance of Romeo and Juliet, simultaneously bringing down the whole set with him in ninth grade. After that, he'd always played the tree or just done backstage work. Not to mention how often he'd been labelled as gay for taking part in his school's plays.

Blushing slightly, he glanced back at Grif, glad that he hadn't been there to see that. Glad no one here knew almost anything about anybody else.

He needed that confidentiality.

Actually, now that he thought about it, they probably all did.

Simmons returned to his task. _Of course he isn't going to help me, the lazy cockbite he is,_ Simmons found himself thinking. _-but seriously is something wrong with him? He hasn't said a word in all this time._

Grif continued to stare blankly at the wall behind him, expressionless.

"Grif? Grif, are you... alright? I mean- uhm... are you sick or something?" His concern was usually well concealed beneath his tone of agitation and annoyance, but now that facade was slipping rapidly. He finished clearing away the mess, wiping away any visible vermilion stains with a well-used mop he usually kept in the corner. Grif blinked as though snapping out of a trance. His face was bright red, but that might well have been because of the infra-red lights installed in the ceiling. In a hoarse voice Grif spoke: "Y-you..." He swallowed with difficulty, as though attempting to clear his throat of something.

Were his eyes normally this shiny? He looked almost as if he were about to-

"I-if anything I should be asking you! What the fuck were you thinking? What were you doing? God, you are _so_ much more messed up than I thought you were! Why didn't you say anything, you stupid prick?" The maroon clad man careered back in surprise at his outburst, flinching. He thought about denying the mess he was, but he already knew it would just be a completely weak attempt at conserving his dignity. No, that had gone out of the window a long time ago.

God, his head _ached._

"Grif, I don't understand-"

_Thank god these walls are sound-proofed,_ he thought, head still spinning, a little light from bloodloss.

"No? Well, I don't, either, _Dick_. Why would you... _how_ could you? You can't just..." Grif stuttered, having difficulty finding the words he wanted to say as his own voice choked him, face wet, something which would _normally_ be utterly foreign and strange and wrong.

_There's **obviously** something serious going on with him. But what could it be? Grif never stutters, never cries, never uses my first name. Not in front of other people, anyway..._

And suddenly it hit him like a sack of bricks.

He thought that Simmons had tried to commit suicide. And he wouldn't be wrong in thinking that, not necessarily. Because yeah, he had been trying to do kill himself. He _had_. And it wasn't the frist time either.

But he also couldn't do it. He couldn't end his life. It was terrifying to think about that. And it was also so, so stupid. He had tried once again, and failed, once again, just like he failed at every other important thing he'd tried to do in his life. And all because he was afraid. And he was ashamed of that. Ashamed of himself. Because it was just so frustrating, trying again and again to do what he should have done years ago, what he could never find the courage to do, even now, living in this shithole, leading this ridiculous life, feeling more useless and hopeless than ever before.

He knew the name of it.

_Thantophobia, lit. the fear of death or dying._

Everyone fears death, of course they do, but this... this was different. His limbs physically wouldn't move to do the deed when he wanted them to. His mind screamed no. Every muscle froze at the thought. It wasn't the only phobia he had, but it was by far the most annoying.

_I really should have realised sooner how obvious it is that I'm doing what I'm doing, shouldn't I?_

"No! No, it's not like that, I swear, I-" A lie. And a bad one, too. It wasn't going to work. "I... okay... maybe it kinda was like that. But you see, I couldn't do it because I have this phobia and-" Grif stepped closer and spoke, his voice soft and his face unreadable. "Why? Why would you try and do that? What kind of- why? I mean, I know this place sucks and all, but you know, there's always another way... right?" Clearly, Grif wasn't used to giving this speech.

"I... I couldn't sleep and I've been thinking about a lot of things lately... I got really angry at myself for... for a lot of things. And then I kinda broke the mirror... I was so frustrated! It was a really cliche, stupid move and I know... and you have no idea how much I regret it now, but..."

Simmons looked down at his hand, gritting his teeth at the memory of how fucking painful it had been when his fist met the mirror and wishing with all his heart that he could just disappear. Everything had become so overwhelming all of a sudden... "R-really, it wasn't that bad. Didn't hurt that much, not really, though I-"

His voice rose several tones and his words were so rushed he didn't even notice it, not at first.

Grif's arms were wrapped around him.

"You know what I think? I think - I think you think too much, Richard." His voice was quiet and sort of muffled - he'd buried his face in the taller man's chest.

_Wait, when did that happen?_

His brain ran at a hundred miles a minute as he tried to process what was happening and his face was turning bright crimson by the second - but he didn't say anything.

"Uh, I mean, um..." Grif's grip tightened before he realised he had held on to his teammate for a little bit too long. And although Simmon's organic face was flushed red with embarrassment and awkwardness, it was... nice. "Side-effects of being a nerd, probably. You really do need to take some anger-management classes though." The short Hawaiian looked up into his friend's mismatched eyes with his own similarly contrasting ones for a moment, settling on the original one. It was his fault that Simmons had lost its counterpart - well, sort of. It was a real shame, because they had been so beautiful.

Deep green, a shade very rare and quite attractive. Not that Simmons himself was attractive to Grif. He was a kissass and an asshole all in one. Well, okay, maybe he sort of was kinda hot, in his own weird and nerdy-but-cute way, but Grif was not going to say that out loud. Nope, not happening.

_I've been staring, haven't I?_

Snapping out of his trance, Grif backed away slightly, reluctant to let go of Simmons entirely for reasons he couldn't consciously explain. The soldier in question was looking at him questioningly, worriedly even, glancing between his transfixed eyes and the hand still resting stubbornly on his arm and wondering if he should be trying to gently pry it away - but he didn't want to startle its owner so he just stood there awkwardly instead. He was speaking in a soft, coaxing tone, just like you might talk to a spooked horse or stray cat. "Hey... do you want to maybe, um, I don't know, let go of my arm? I mean, you don't have to, but..."

_Jesus, this is almost as gay as Donut's musical... being awake this late at night is really messing with my head..._ The memory of Donut's musical hijinks provoked an involuntary shudder from the orange spartan as he struggled to rerepress the images that came to mind. "Uh, Grif?" Simmons laughed nervously, clearly getting more and more worried about his friend's already doubtful      well-being by the second. "You might want to let go of me now. Maybe."

_Shit._

"Haha yeah, right. I'm letting go now." Mentally, the Hawaiian faceplanted as he quickly stepped away from Simmons, glad his skin tone usually stopped people from noticing when he was blushing. _I am not used to this hugging your friends crap,_ Grif groaned internally.

_Well, that was an epic fail._

They headed back to the bunks, feeling through the semi-darkness for the other light switch. Once they'd found it, they lay down promptly in their respective beds, pretending to go to sleep. It was then that Simmons snuck a glance at the still blushing orange-clad soldier. His skin had not quite managed to mask every trace of suffuse and so his usually brown face was now tinted a dark red. Almost the colour of Simmons' armour, actually.

_Hey, whadd'you know? That colour kinda suits him, actually._

He wore a faded orange tee and simple sweatpants, which was normal enough, but his cheeks had now developed a rosey tint and it was clear he was trying very hard not to look at the other spartan. When he did finally look at him, Simmons averted his gaze far too quickly, his hopes of a smooth nonchalant disposition rapidly dashed. _In what universe did I, Richard Simmons, ever have a smooth nonchalant disposition anyway?_ His mental voice deadpanned truthfully. There was also the fact that he had averted his gaze to a nearby wall which he was only about an inch away from.

_Oh crap, way to go, Dick! Great job on the subtlety there,_ He scolded himself, only to glance back and find that Grif was doing the exact same thing. Anxiously the maroon soldier began pressing his fingers into his palms rhythmically to try to calm himself.

It did _not_ work.

"So... do you wanna... y'know... talk about it?" It was painfully obvious that Grif was trying way too hard to be casual right now. "N-no! No, I mean, really it's... it's fine." They lay in silence for a long while, and then Grif stood up and just plonked himself down on Simmons' bed beside him. "I can't sleep." He said, as if what he had just done was the most natural thing in the world. "Plus... your bed's nicer. It's not as..." It was painfully apparent that Grif had no idea of what to say to excuse himself. The redhead tried to bring himself to protest but really... he didn't mind. _Fucking dumbass,_ the taller youth thought to himself, not unfondly, as he bailed the other out.

Or at least, he tried to.

"Uh, you mean like, lumpy..?" "Y-yeah, that's what I meant. I'm just tired, that's all. I need to sleep."

_Maybe I'll be less gay tomorrow if I do,_ was Grif's mental afternote.

_God, does Donut never sleep? Is that what made him how he is?_

"You're always tired... What you really need need to get off your fat ass and exercise." The Dutch-Irish spartan affectionately quipped. "But sure... you can stay here if you want. For tonight. If you're that sensitive to your bed."                                        "Shut up, kissass."                                                              "Prick."                                                                          "Fucktard."                                                                "Dickhead."                                                                          "Well, goodnight then, asshole."                                              "You too."

Grif had always found it remarkably easy to fall asleep, wherever he was. It was probably one of the only talents he had. He never ceased to amaze with the number of naps he took, and how easily he drifted in and out of consciousness. It was just like flicking a switch, one moment he was there and the next, he just _wasn't_. And this time wasn't any different... except the fact that he was now snoring on Simmons' chest instead of the concrete floor of the base. The cyborg found that he was very much aware of the contact despite himself and could not help but be a little bit flustered.

He prayed his heart wasn't nearly as loud as it seemed in his ears and tried to distract himself by looking at the surroundings. Unfortunately the surroundings consisted of his and Grif's things: mostly Grif's since he never bothered to put anything away.

Grif, who was currently snoring away on his chest.

"How the fuck am I going to deal with this?" He muttered under his breath, even though he knew that the orange idiot slept so deeply it would not be at all surprising if he managed to sleep through the detonation of an atomic bomb inside his ear.

_Is this going to change anything between us?_

The maroon soldier shifted slightly when he heard a low noise coming from his teammate, for a moment convinced that Grif had somehow awoken despite his seeming abysmal slumber, but the soldier only sighed, and then seemingly decided that he wasn't hogging Simmons' personal space enough.

Of course, that had to be remedied.

"Please, let nothing change..."

He'd never been so close to someone else before, at least not in sleep, always preferring to maintain a safe distance with people, especially since his 'upgrade'. Being partially made of metal really affected him, and it made him a lot more self-conscious. Not that he already wasn't. It made him a lot more grateful for Grif - because nothing had ever changed between them as of his cybernetic enhancement. If anything, they had a lot more in common (what a sick joke that was!). It was terrifying - and both lived in fear of losing themselves to what they had become, monsters, freaks, no longer had they any hope of passing for normal in society ever again.

Grif pretended he didn't care as usual, while Simmons agonised as quietly as he could. It was nothing new, not really. And yet, it was so different and horrible at the same time, too. It was not as if he had minded Grif having his organs, even if he _didn't_ take very good care of them.

_Except nobody ever asked me if I wanted to become a an experimental freakshow of a man._

Ok, so yeah, maybe he did mind. Just a bit.

Well, actually, it was a lot. He minded a lot. Nobody would ever wish something like this upon themselves, not if they knew what it was truly like. Because living like this - it was hell. It hurt in every possible way, and every day was a constant reminder, a constant throbbing headache that told him again and again - you're disgusting, you're a machine, you're not human-

"I'm not even properly alive anymore."

Every movement echoed in his mind, every word, every image, every sentiment.

_I'm half weapon - and half the person I used to be._

But Grif was alive - and that's what really mattered. Even if he didn't seem to care either way.

_________________________

1\. Grif is lying on me.

2\. His face is buried in my neck.

3\. The most personal space available to either of us right now is about an inch, give or take.

4\. Grif is not going to move any time soon, clearly, and I have no hope of pulling him off me, not with my robot arm pinned like this.

5\. He's... smiling?

Making lists had always had a soothing effect on Simmons. He'd often make lists in his head to calm himself down, so when things got too hectic, the redhead liked to find himself a nice hidden corner where he could sit and just be at peace for a while and make mental lists of everything - from armour colours and sci-fi movies to the brands of the trails of soda cans Grif left strewn about the base wherever he went. Even if these moments of quiet were often fragile and quickly dispersed, they always held meaning somehow. Sometimes Grif would join him in these moments, ignoring any complaints from his teammate for smoking and drinking, knowing full well that Simmons would always end up joining him later in inebriating themselves stupid, as is red army custom.

But the list that the cyborg's brain made today was not helping his nerves at all, only succeeding in further distressing him.

_Fuck you, brain!_

His attempt at distracting himself having failed, he discovered that his jitters had only grown worse.

"What's wrong with me?"

_A lot._

"Ugh, I'm just so tired..." Yet another feature of Simmons 2.0's list of not-quite-effective nerve-killing methods is...

"My cyber modifications log every list so I can recall them whenever I want. Fat lot of good that does me."

**Monologuing.**

_Did I mention that I made a list of lists I've made to calm myself down?_

_Why did you have to have a meltdown now, idiot? You're ruining everything, as usual._ Grif shifted in his sleep and Simmons squeaked a little when he noticed that they were even closer together now. _Shiiiiit._ "Okay then. In, out, in, out. See? That's it." A pause. "Wait, was it in, out or out, in?" Cue forgetting how to breathe and almost choking to death. Yeah, things weren't really working out for Simmons right now.

_Alright this is bullshit. I need to get over this stupid, stupid anxiety of mine. Ugh, why am I so pathetic?_ He took a deep breath and lowered his gaze to the warm mass of messy locks that was fast asleep on him, not even realising that he had broken into a fond grin. Grif. He had always just been there, no matter what. He never went anywhere, never tried to betray or abandon him, he was always just there. Cautiously, Simmons wrapped his own arms around the other and closed his eyes.

______________________________

Whimpering reached Simmons' ears and he snapped awake, reaching into the darkness for a light, a wall, something familiar, at last finding a switch. He found something familiar alright. "Jesus!" There was something heavy on top of him, something trembling and warm. Something that was... Grif? He froze. And then he remembered yesterday. It was clear that Grif was having a nightmare...

It wouldn't be the first time. He was muttering and twitching, tossing his head. "You too? Shh now, it's alright. You're ok. Calm down." Simmons continued to look on in concern as Grif's features contorted again. "Hey now, you're safe..." Gently, the maroon-clad soldier ran his hands through the Hawaiian's dark hair, whispering as soothingly as he could. He knew better than anyone that nobody deserved to face their nightmares alone.

_______________________________________

_I wonder what he was thinking about..._

Grif had stopped whimpering and was now sleeping again while Simmons absent-mindedly stroked his hair. He didn't even notice he was doing it, or how close together they were now, only appreciating the tranquility of the moment. He was already      half-asleep anyway, lulled by the steady breathing of his friend beside him.

_____________________________________

Simmons woke up early as usual. He looked around the room idly, skimming his gaze over every detail as he did every morning - a sort of intinctual paranoia leftover from his younger days that had never quite gone away. Grif was still asleep - to no one's surprise - and though the position Simmons currently found himself in was less than comfortable, he found that he did not want to disturb the other man. But still, he was beginning to find it hard to breathe as Grif unintentionally crushed his rib cage. Careful as can be, he tried to move Grif's hands so as to get up without waking him, but to no avail.

"Grif? Grif, wake up. Dexter..? Hey, Dex? Hello?" But Grif showed no signs of hearing him. He waited a little longer, holding his breath a little in hope of saving some oxygen. "Grif!" His voice grew raw and high-pitched as his deprived lungs cried out. "Grif, please. You're... crushing... me..." Feebly he reached out towards his bedside table. _It's here somewhere, I know it is... I know it's here, it has to be, oh god please let it be here._ He laughed mentally at his situation, even though from where he was sitting it wasn't really funny at all. Depending on Oreos to save his life as he was being crushed by his best friend's bulk.

"I must... find... the Oreos..."

_Jesus, what does he eat? I mean I knew he was fat but this just about tops it,_ Simmons thought, wheezing. He found the packet at last and proceeded to tear it open with just one hand, dangling the open packet in front of the shorter, darker youth. "Come on, come on, come on..." The result of this venture would have been almost comedic had Simmons been able to laugh, but his foremost concern was freeing his lungs. Grif's eyes flew open as soon as he smelt the Oreos. The effect food had on the brunet was truly amazing. He lunged toward the scent without even a second thought, but then stopped himself when he realised where he was.

_Wait, why are there Oreos dangling in my face..?_

"Grif... get the hell off me, you fat fuck... I can't... fucking... breathe..." Simmons then promptly threw the Oreos off the bed. "See? Go fetch." For a few seconds Grif just stared at him blankly in shock before going the colour of a beetroot and practically leaping off the bed in his haste.

_Oh my god what the fuck was I doing? Was I... sleeping on him? And I was crushing him?_

"Before you ask, we spent the whole night like that. Just thought you might want to know." Simmons, the little devil he was, grinned at him maliciously, wondering how much redder he could make Grif turn through his tanned complexion. "I couldn't get you _off_ me." He omitted the fact that he had actually rather liked the company. But then he winced and folded in on himself, doubling up as he clutched at his bruising torso with a groan. "Fucking fatass." Grif stumbled backward in a daze, tripping over the Oreo packet as he went, landing right on his butt. And then he started laughing. Soon Simmons too was laughing, and he got up to help the floored spartan up in an unusual gesture of cordiality.

"Oh no you don't!" Grif yanked at his forearm as hard as he could, causing Simmons to yelp and collapse right there where he was. "Asshole." His voice was stern but he couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from curling up. "Love you too." The pause between that statement and the next was a little too long, too sincere.

_Too risky, Grif, remember? Don't say it again._

They did their best to ignore it. Turning over to face his roommate, who was of course somehow already stuffing his face with Oreos, Simmons rolled his eyes. "Why am I not surprised?"            "What? No way I'm going to let perfectly good Oreos go to waste." "Oh no, yeah, I totally get it - what a tragedy that would be!"                                           "Shut up." They lay on the ground alongside each other talking as they usually did. Or rather, Simmons would talk and Grif would listen, occasionally dropping in an insult or a listless comment. But that was ok because their system worked.

It was the best way to exploit each other's company, and it was so good to know that there was someone else you can speak freely around, somebody who understands. Grif, still going strong with the Oreos, unsuspectingly observed that Simmons' shirt had ridden up as he was talking, revealing a patch of pale skin interrupted by metal. But more importantly, that patch of skin was... pretty toned? He stopped eating and stared, but he resumed as quickly as he could. _Oh no you fucking don't! You are not gonna make things awkward again, okay? Not for another few hours, at least! Leave the gay to Donut, **for god's sake.**_

How had he never noticed that the redhead was this fit? He had simply never thought the young Dutch-Irish man would be anything but lanky and weak. Now that he thought about it however, it made perfect sense. Sarge had always had stupid drills and exercise routines set out for his soldiers, and Simmons had been the only one to actually complete them, not to mention actually having some semblance of stamina when it came to running. Grif had just assumed it was down to the power of kissassing, never even imagining how fit his maroon friend actually might be.

He just didn't seem like that sort of guy.

Grif set about fumbling for more food to try to smother his racing heartbeat, to cover it up. But thankfully the redhead seemed to be absorbed in whatever he was saying. Speaking of, his red hair was tousled, bed-headed for once. It looked so different when he didn't comb it. Gave him a sort of wild edge. It was almost cute, especially since he was talking about something he was passionate about, probably computers or something equally as dumb and maths-y.  _I'm not being gay here, am I? Jeez, I feel like Donut. I haven't even seen Magic Mike! When did I get this attracted to guys? And not just any guys either, guys like Simmons! Fuck, I'm broken, aren't I? Whqt did I do? Is Donut contagious or something? Didn't I step in his incense last week? Is that it?_

No matter how hard he tried to deny that he might just find his male teammate kind of attractive, Grif couldn't help but note how Simmons looked so much younger, so much happier, like this. Not at all like the nervous wreck he had found kneeling on the bathroom floor in a pool of blood. It was nice to see him like this, smiling as one who is doing something they really like to do.

________________________________________________

It was good to go through the motions of their normal system again. It made things feel so much safer. And it was good to see Grif up to his usual habit of eating everything in sight again. If Grif wasn't eating, that's when you knew things had truly gone to hell. Even if his constant consumption of junk food was at the expense of somebody else's organs. "Good to see your appetite hasn't left you buddy." Simmons said dryly, giving his teammate a scornful glare. "Y-yeah." Grif seemed a little off, as though distracted by something. "Are you even listening to me?" _Well, of course he isn't, Simmons. Haven't you learnt anything in all this time?_

The maroon spartan pointedly ignored the voice in his head as it stated the obvious. "H-huh? Oh. Yeah - I mean, uhm, sure, whatever dude." Rude as ever, even if he was a little off. He probably wasn't any more distracted then usual, nothing to worry about anyway. It was nothing, probably. There was one anomaly at least that he could confirm though. Grif, whose features were usually adorned with scowls or smirks, was now wearing a rare contented smile instead of his normal deadpan. The taller youth did not know what caused these minimal lapses in his teammate's customarily sour demeanour, but he did know that Grif looked much better with a smile on his face.

In fact, one might even go as far as to say that he looked really good like that. Quite appealing. Whenever he smiled the Hawaiian's features would soften and his eyes would light up. Everything about him just looked brighter and more natural, more alive, and Simmons would find himself forgetting that they were in the middle of a war zone, forgetting himself even. It was at times like these that he knew he was truly happy even as they sat in the equivalent of a dark, dank oven. He was completely willing to lie on the floor and talk for as long as the moment lasted if it would bring that heavenly smile to Grif's face.

Without even realising what he was doing he had reached over and brushed a couple of dark strands out of his friend's eyes distractedly, revealing the golden orbs that Simmons so missed when they were hidden by a visor. Grif froze.

_I wanted to see his eyes, that's all. But still, why did I do that? Why did I want to see his eyes so bad? Ughhh, why am I so fucking awkward?_

"I- I, um..." _Shit shit shit shit, think of something!_ "I never get to see your eyes during the day... so uh... I guess... I guess I wanted to see them..." _Oh crap, why do I have to be so bad at excuses?_ "I... I'm- I'm really sorry... I don't know why I-" Simmons winced internally at the harshness of his own tone and cursed his stupid voice - it never seemed to manage staying in the same octave when he needed it to. "Uh... sorry, I guess. I'm sorry." Now it was Grif's turn to look like a tomato. "No... it's okay... only fair, since I've seen yours." When had Grif forsaken his Oreos? Simmons hadn't noticed.

The room fell silent again. Both young men stared at the ceiling as though they'd just discovered that the secret of the universe was written up there. At last the Dutch-Irish spartan found the courage to glance at Grif. However his eyes collided not with the other's face in profile, but the amber irises he had so wanted to uncover. They fixed their gazes back on the ceiling once more, all attempts at being casual discarded. But not before Simmons caught the spark of light in Grif's face when he turned away. He was smiling again, as though thinking about something that he liked. It was the most beautiful smile that the redhead had ever seen.

So Simmons leaned over and, for once in his life without hesitating or agonising about it, kissed him.

___________________________________

//much, much later//

"Alright ladies, I need someone to spy on the others! You two, move out. Donut... you can do whatever you usually do... go put on your hand lotion or something while I come up with another genius plan."                                                                "Excellent idea sir. We'll- _I'll_ get right on it." Simmons grabbed Grif by the shoulder and dragged him off to the 'lookout', paying no heed to his grumbling. "You must be the bitchiest brown-nose ever to exist."                                                                                "At least I'm not a fat slob."                                                 "Your name suits you too much, _Dick_."

"Shut up dumbass. Or do you want to play another game of Grifball? I'm sure Sarge would be pleased to comply."               "I'm good thanks."

Simmons was glad that their everyday banter had never changed even through everything that happened over the years. That was one thing that never ended. As long as both were around it would continue, and it was probably the best part of both of their days, even though they would never dream of admitting it. It type of companionable exchange of insults and sarcasm that he had grown accustomed to, attached to, even, and it was necessary of every interaction. The conversation between them never went any other way. And that's how they liked it. They reached the lookout and Grif sat down to catch his breath, panting.

"Seriously Grif, you really need to get in shape. That was a five minute _walk_." "Depends on your definition of walk," the Hawaiian retorted, having conjured up a can of soda up out of what seemed like thin air, "Because that was definitely not a walk by my standards. What are you, some kind of cyborg giraffe? You covered like 2 metres with every stride." "Am not! It's not my fault I have long legs! You're just too busy napping to do any training. You should try getting up off your lazy ass for once." Simmons turned as light red as Donut as he responded to his teammate irritably. "Nah. That's way too much effort."

Grif sipped his soda once more as his maroon teammate flopped down beside him. "Think anything will happen today?"       "Probably not. Unless those guys at blue base pull some more of their blue problems shit again. Then, yeah maybe." Simmons exhaled and lay his gun down. "It's been a while since the last stunt. Maybe the universe is taking a break. Going easy on us for once." He glanced at the other soldier's now finished soda can and briefly wondered how he could finish them so quickly. "Eh, it's hot today. Nobody's gonna do anything when it's this hot. They can't possibly be dumb enough. Well, except maybe Caboose, I guess."

"Ugh, can this place get any worse? I'm kinda seeing why you always say you wanna go home now. Nothing at all has happened..." Both guys had removed their helmets after about an hour of the stifling heat, deciding that the blues indeed weren't planning anything because of the weather. "...god, I can't believe they didn't bother to install AC anywhere. This is fucking unbearable without it." "Oh stop your bitching. Want a soda? It might just shut you up, even if it's probably warm by now." Now that he thought about it, Simmons was pretty thirsty. "Yeah sure, whatever. I just hope it doesn't fuck up my robot parts."

It had been a while since he'd tasted soda so he could ignore the fact he had no idea where it came from. "Shut your eyes." "Wait, what? Why should I-" A hand came over his face, momentarily covering his eyes so he could not see what the other was doing - but it soon retracted as the familiar shape of a can was pressed into his metal hand. "You can open them now. I didn't want you to see where I keep them in case Sarge tries to get you to confiscate them from me." _Fair enough_. He looked down at the can. Pepsi. He couldn't even remember when he'd last drunk one. Here goes, he thought to himself, realising he couldn't even remember how they tasted either.

Well, Grif liked them, so they must be ok. But Grif also ate and drank just about anything that even remotely resembled food so... Oh fuck it, who cares? I need to drink something anyway. The liquid was sweet, and it left a sort of (citrus-y?) aftertaste. He could certainly understand why Grif liked these sorts of drinks so much, but it wasn't really his thing even so, creating a sort of burning sensation in his throat that he could not place. He grimaced slightly, holding the can at arm's length. "It's... not bad..."                                                                                  "Not bad? That's all you have to say?"

"Well I'm sorry I'm not immediately hooked!"                             "I didn't fucking waste part of my personal supply for this reaction!"                                                                             "Oh, can it. I know you've got a bunch more hidden somewhere... and also, did I just correctly hear you say that you were trying to impress me?"

Grif flushed red, eyes flitting everywhere but on Simmons' own.

"No... you heard wrong."                                                   "Uhuh."                                                                                 "But on to more important matters. Seriously dude, who doesn't like soda!?"                                                                               "I don't know! Maybe it's because I'm a cyborg?"                 "That's no excuse! Only you could not like soda!"                                      "I- I never said I didn't like it! And what do you mean, only _I_ couldn't like soda!?"                                                               "Oh yeah, like your face isn't saying that already. Don't give me those eyes. I said it because you're like a weirdo vegetan or something."                                                  

"Sh-shut up! What do you know about my face? And it's pronounced vegan, dumbass. Plus, I'm pretty sure thia soda is vegan. What would they put in it that isn't?"                               "I know more than you'r ever know - comes from years of observation and admiration." It was Simmons' turn to blush. "Don't get so worked up about it. You're such a drama queen." "Whatever. I don't care anyway."                                             "Oh yeah? Well, I know that your face is like, the most beautiful one I've ever seen. Except Wendy's. And that's just because whenever I see it, I know I'm gonna be eating something fried and delicious very soon."

"Right..." The maroon soldier raised one ginger eyebrow skeptically, but Grif saw the little grin that played on his lips. "Oh, come on! You're just like her anyway, all ginger hair and dainty freckles!"

"Dainty!" Said dainty ginger snorted, covering his mouth as he fell about laughing. "Yeah, right. And you're the picture of elegance." "Of course." The brunet did his best posh voice, dissolving his companion into a fit of laughter. "I'm serious! I think I'm very elegant." Grif huffed sulkily.                                               "You're the perfect image of grace, I assure you." Simmons inched over to him and moved to kiss his forehead gently, grinning even wider. "Hmph." Turning his face away in mock offence, Grif opened a mystery packet of Doritos with a flourish and made a start on them.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey again! I'm so thankful for anyone that read this far. You can probably tell already from my doubtful writing skills, but this is actually my first fic published. I know my writing was OOC at times, but if you're here that probably means you ay least managed to reach the end without dying of bad jokes. Once again, thanks, and I'm super grateful for feedback.
> 
> As previously mentioned in my forenote, please excuse my formatting being kinda shit - like I said, this is my first, and I copied everything from my notes on my phone so it's a bit shabby.
> 
> Have a great day!


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